Here
by travln1
Summary: House during his first hours after the season 5 finale. Major character death. No pairing implied. Oneshot. I had to throw my efforts into the post finale fics, with a different spin to it. Thanks, as ever, to my awesome beta: Wrytingtyme.
1. Chapter 1

It smelled…clinical. Not quite the same as a nursing home, but damned near close. The stench of disinfectant pierced his nose the second he walked in, and though he had already become accustomed to it, he was very much aware that the smell was unlike that of a regular hospital. And it was quiet. Too quiet. Disturbingly quiet. For a psych facility, House expected to hear screaming or mumbling, maybe head banging, but he heard nothing. He wondered if he was unconsciously blocking out the sounds or if it was really that quiet. It was the kind of quiet where nothing else exists, where the only sound is that of one's own breathing.

With detox imminent, he stood by the barred window in the "lounge" as they called it, looking at the rain filled clouds. He felt the first twinges of a sour stomach and the sweats were not far behind. Not 24 hours of illusion, not capped by fantastic sex, or even the illusion of it, but rather puking-painful-panicking-putrid detox, and the knowledge of what was to come filled his every waking thought.

He'd grown bored with watching the other "residents" as they were called. Most were too deep in their own world to carry on anything resembling a conversation, not that he was particularly interested in talking with anyone, anyway. He'd diagnosed one unknowingly pregnant nurse during the first hour, swallowed pills handed to him in a small paper cup the second, and soon afterwards spotted a piano in the far side of the lounge and made note of it for later. He thankfully had a private room, larger than he'd expected. The mattress was thin, the pillow flat and like everything else, it smelled clinical. If he wasn't insane before he entered the hospital, House was certain he would be by the time he left.

There was thankfully a small window in his room, barred as with all the others, but it was better than nothing. Again he stood peering out at the world, trapped in his own mind, in a psych ward. House wondered what he did to ever deserve any of it. And there, in the corner of his room, stood Kutner, ever watchful. Amber seemed to flutter by once in a while, sometimes lounging on the bed, other times hovering near Kutner.

"I brought a friend," Amber said, waltzing into the room after she'd been gone briefly.

"Hey," a familiar voice whispered.

"Did you find my sanity in the car or are you here to rescue me?" House remained focused on the cloudy sky in front of him, ignoring Amber and refusing to face Wilson.

"Thought you might like some company." Wilson remained rooted to his spot.

"You just left. You couldn't wait even a day?" House said, growing impatient. "I haven't cheated _yet_."

"I know."

"The pull of the insane asylum just too much for you? Couldn't stay away?" House spat.

"No. I'm here for you."

House sighed deeply, and trying to ignore Wilson's reason for being there, he picked up his suitcase, placed it on the bed and began to mindlessly unpack. "It smells like disinfectant," House said, his best attempt at an apology.

"It does." Wilson smiled. "I thought I'd hang around for a while. You okay with that?"

House turned to look at his friend. "It's your sanity. The longer you stay, the more likely you won't be able to leave."

"Some would say our friendship is a sign of my insanity," Wilson said with a smirk.

House chuckled, nodding only just. "Just leave before I start puking. Detox isn't pretty." House picked up his shirts and stuffed them into a drawer.

"It's for your own good."

"How did you get them to let you in here?" House said, looking at Wilson with a furrowed brow.

"It wasn't difficult."

House eyed him, growing more suspicious. "Do they know you're here?"

Wilson shrugged.

House held his breath, the color draining from his face almost instantly. "You're not here," he sighed.

Wilson placed his hands on his hips, feet set apart, donning his superhero pose. "And what would make you say that?"

"You're too much of a goody-goody to break in and visitors aren't allowed in patient rooms. Perfect. Now I'm not just hallucinating the dead."

"Maybe you're hallucinating those you care for?"

"I never cared for Amber."

"So, you admit you cared for Kutner?"

House narrowed his eyes. "Oh clever. I never said that."

"And if you didn't care for Amber, then why did you practically kill yourself trying to find out who she was?"

"Because, you idiot, I didn't do it for her I did it for…." House's voice trailed off. "This is stupid. _This_ is why I'm here. I'm talking to myself."

Wilson seemed to float to Amber's side; he looked at her with a sad expression, though somehow he still smiled. Absentmindedly, Wilson glanced at Kutner before finally settling on House. "Are you?"

_______

House watched her momentarily before he made his way to the small table set up in what was originally intended as an exam room. Now it served as a visitor's room, complete with a warden sitting in the far corner. She smiled up at him, steeling herself for what was sure to be a brief visit, one she wished she didn't have reason to make.

House sat down, flanked by Amber on one side and Kutner on the other. Wilson stood behind him, his hand coming to rest on House's shoulder. If he hadn't been out of his mind, House thought the trio almost felt protective. Comfortable. Safe. They were, essentially, his cushion, providing a barrier between his reality and what was actual.

"How are you?" she asked. It was habit, a stupid one. She could clearly see he was in the throes of detox. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, pooling beneath his chin and on his ears before dripping down onto his wrinkled shirt. He smelled vaguely of vomit, his breathing haggard, his limp weaker than usual.

House leaned forward and locked eyes with Cuddy. She held his stare, though she wanted nothing more than to look away. He studied her in his unrelenting gaze, gleaning the truth from her eyes. He nodded. And there, in the dimly lit room of a psych ward, he knew. The truth he had known before she arrived was confirmed.

Cuddy rested her hands on top of House's as the pair sat opposite one another at the table. She tried to keep her voice steady, tried to be strong. For him. "House," she took a breath before continuing. "The roads were wet-"

House shook his head, holding his hand up to stop her. He closed his eyes as Wilson squeezed his shoulder, tipping his chin down, unable to look at her any longer. And when he finally found his voice, he spoke just barely above a whisper.

"I know."


	2. Chapter 2

This is a follow-up to "Here". On my lj, I titled it "And There". I thought "Here" would be a oneshot, but I changed my mind. Thanks for reading and for the reviews! :)

_______

Someone was holding his hand. Cuddy. Of course. Before he had the chance to open his eyes, she placed a light kiss to his forehead. House wondered if he was hallucinating again, no, if he was delusional again.

"House," she softly called. "House, I'm here."

Fighting against the urge to fall back into a deep sleep, he opened his eyes and stared into hers.

"You're back," another familiar voice sounded, somewhere to his left.

House looked sharply at Wilson, almost startled at first to see him standing there. And then he accepted the illusion as comfort; even in death Wilson was welcome. House returned his gaze to Cuddy.

Despite the cotton ball feeling in his mouth, he forced himself to speak. "What's going on?" House looked down at his body under the bed covers. He felt unusually weak, as if he'd run a marathon.

Wilson rested his hand on House's shoulder. "It's okay, you weren't tolerating the detox well, so you were sedated."

House turned his head towards Cuddy, certain that her presence was genuine, not one borne out of an addiction-raddled brain.

"Cuddy?"

Wilson furrowed his brow and looked at Cuddy. "He's ignoring me."

Cuddy fussed with House's blanket, folding the top down into a perfect crease. "You were combative and your blood pressure spiked before it took a dip. We opted to have you put under so you could undergo rapid detox. We thought it was in your best interest."

House looked confusedly at her, shaking his head slightly as he tried to make sense of his still muddled mind. "Wilson was my proxy. How did you…."

Wilson ran a hand through his unkempt hair. House eyed him briefly, somewhat distracted by how much more _Wilson_ Wilson seemed than Amber had resembled Amber. Amber was creepy, somewhat disturbing. Wilson was a comfort, in his usual best-friendish way.

"House," Cuddy began. Again she rested her hand on top of his. "I know, but we decided together."

Slowly, House turned his head to take in the sight of his best friend. He dreaded the words he was about to say. "Wilson's dead," he said, not quite asking, though not with certainty, either.

"Nice," Wilson said, one corner of his mouth turning downwards.

Cuddy looked at House in concern and placed her hands on either temples as she steadied his head. She took a good, long look as she flashed a penlight in his eyes. "House, Wilson's right here."

House swatted her hand away. "He's always here."

"We've both been here all night, but he was at work yesterday."

"But the accident…." House couldn't tear his eyes away from Wilson.

Wilson looked at House with concern, chancing a questioning glance at Cuddy before pulling up a chair to sit beside House.

"Accident?" Wilson asked.

"Oh come on, get off it. Cuddy, tell me Wilson's not dead," House said, now growing impatient. He began to wonder if Cuddy might not have been a hallucination herself.

"Wilson is alive and well and sitting right here," she said.

House looked disbelievingly at Wilson. Wilson set his jaw before reaching in and pinching House hard on the arm.

"Ow!"

"Think I'm dead now?"

House's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but both Wilson and Cuddy saw it. It started with the look of shock, followed by relief and if they didn't know him better, perhaps even a hint of joy there, in his steely blues, though he refused to utter any words that reflected his emotion.

House took a good, long look around the room and what little he could see of the hallway. He was still at the psych facility, though the room looked nothing like what he had apparently imagined. Amber was nowhere in sight, nor Kutner. As he thought about it, he realized the last thing he remembered was handing a staff member his suitcase for inspection.

"So, when can I go home?"

Wilson shook his head and with a firm tone said, "Not until you're ready."

Fin.


End file.
